


just curious

by sightstone (symmetrophobic)



Series: lck office!au [1]
Category: League of Legends RPF
Genre: M/M, lck office!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 02:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13694628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symmetrophobic/pseuds/sightstone
Summary: Kyungho’s not very good at saying sorry first. He’s not very good at saying sorry at all. It’s unfortunate that Seohaeng’s apparently chosen now to be bad at it too.





	just curious

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from curious by hayley kiyoko

 

 When Song Kyungho walks into the office that morning, Sehyung’s already dumped a stack of files on his table.

This is nothing new. Sehyung has been known to actively look for ways to make himself unlikeable in their ratty little office. He’s going out of his way this morning, though, Kyungho would be touched if his mood wasn’t already sour.

 _By today,_ is scrawled on a cheap post-it in Sehyung’s ugly chicken scratch handwriting. As per normal, then, Kyungho yawns, shoving the files aside and setting off for some coffee.

In retrospect, he should’ve just taken the damn post-it seriously, for once.

He swaggers into their cramped pantry, mood improving slightly when Hyukkyu involuntarily shrinks towards the cupboards in an attempt to get away from him.

“Whatcha looking at?” He says conversationally, pouring an excessive amount of sugar into his black ( _like my soul_ , he would say cryptically on good days) coffee.

He can literally _feel_ Hyukkyu weighing the pros and cons of ignoring him. Usually, this would make him feel empowered, but now, he just feels a little hollow.

Kyungho doesn’t think about it, though. He’s very good at that. Dongbin once said it was the reason why he was so good at work. Little things like passing thoughts, nagging feelings, and potentially crippling internal emotional conflicts, he brushed off on a daily basis. No sweat.

Hyukkyu clears his throat, a prim _ahem_. “Nothing.”

To make himself feel better, Kyungho shoves himself right up next to the younger boy, propping himself expertly against their rickety aluminium table, effectively trapping him there. “Don’t ignore me, Hyukkyu-ah. It’s not polite.”

Hyukkyu vibrates with discomfort. “I need to go finish the report for Dongbin.”

“Nice report,” Kyungho headbutts his way between Hyukkyu and his phone. “Is that Instagram? You have a _social life_ , Hyukkyu- _yah_ , I’m so proud-…”

Then he pauses. And he spits a bit of coffee onto Hyukkyu’s hand.

The following ten seconds consist of Hyukkyu swearing in that uniquely quiet but extremely threatening way of his, and Kyungho continuing to cough into a paper napkin.

“Who is _that_ ,” Kyungho finally demands once he has the breath.

“What?” Hyukkyu’s scrubbing at his white (now slightly brown) cuff in vain at the sink.

“That man in the photo!” The older man gestures wildly. “Who is he? You know him, right? Wait, let me see-…”

Hyukkyu wrestles his phone back from Kyungho. “I don’t know,” he snaps. “Some guy from Advertising, maybe. Hyung, this shirt is _new_ -…”

“Advertising? They let someone with hair like his into _Advertising_?”

Hyukkyu squints (it doesn’t change much, if Kyungho’s to be honest, but don’t tell Hyukkyu he said that) at the photo. It’s a candid selfie of two men, taken beside a billiards table in the pub rec room a few blocks away, some people milling around the table in the background. “What’s wrong with his hair? My hair’s brown too-…”

“ _No_ , not _him_ , I know _him,_ for fuck’s sake _._ Who’s _that guy_ with him?”

Hyukkyu frowns. “What, you mean Dayoonie?”

Kyungho successfully snatches the phone from him, clicking on the man’s profile and doing a brief rundown of his account. In about 0.34 seconds, he’s decided this guy is a fake model who bought all of his eight hundred or so followers and probably has a Patreon hidden somewhere. Come _on_ , his username is a _spirit_ToT_ , he’s _clearly_ some fuckboy.

Hyukkyu grabs the phone back, and tries to sidle away rapidly with his coffee. Kyungho stops him with a decisive arm.

“Who is _Dayoonie_?”

“Why does it matter?” The younger man sighs, like he’s regretting all his life choices. “He’s a friend of mine, we went to university together. He got transferred from PR to Advertising some time ago, he said-….”

“Okay, whatever,” Kyungho says impatiently, brandishing the phone (still in Hyukkyu’s hand). “What matters is _why_ he’s standing so close to Seohaeng, looking at him with _that smile_ on his face?”

Hyukkyu is rather bruised, tired and slightly brown at this point, which is probably what pushes him to say something he’ll regret for the greater part of the next few months. “I dunno, his new boyfriend maybe?”

*

(“Why would you _say_ that?” Dongbin despairs later that afternoon when they’re in the pantry for their daily shittalk sessions, the subject of which today is Kyungho.

“I didn’t _know_ ,” Hyukkyu responds defensively. “He never told me he had a _boyfriend_.”

“You can’t blame him,” Wonseok deadpans, then. “I think the rest of us knew they were dating before Kyungho knew he was gay.”

Sehyung snorts a mouthful of coffee up his nose and has to clear his airways into the sink for ten minutes straight. Everyone except Dongbin ignores him.)

*

Song Kyungho and Lee Seohaeng have not broken up.

Neither are they dating. They’re just…sort of in between, on the _out_ side, if you get what Kyungho means. Taking a break, right, that’s it. A break that’d stretched from one week to two, two weeks to three, and is fast approaching a month.

Kyungho’s not very good at saying sorry first. He’s not very good at saying sorry at all. It’s unfortunate that Seohaeng’s apparently chosen now to be bad at it too.

So what if Kyungho had initiated the break? ( _Just_ break, not break _up_ , they’re two very different things, okay). So what if he runs away from the things he wants? It’s not _his_ responsibility to get them back together. Right? Right? _Right?_

And the more Kyungho thinks about it, the more he works to stop thinking about it. So the days fly by, and the unidentifiable, nagging feeling that _might_ have been happiness slips further from his fingertips, buried under the megaphone of a bruised ego and fragile masculinity. 

*

Kyungho goes through three cups of coffee and all the files that morning.

“Who pissed you off?” Sehyung says amiably when the younger man dumps the files onto his desk before lunch. He’s not even the boss here, _Dongbin_ is, but Sehyung just has a knack for getting things done, just not necessarily always in the right way. “Was it Hyukkyu? Quick, Dongbin needs to know if he needs a raise.”

“Who is _Dayoon_?” Kyungho asks, dangerously quiet.

If it’d been anyone else, they would’ve immediately seen the red flags go up and stopped right there.

However, this is Sehyung. He immediately sees the red flags go up and proceeds on, full steam ahead.

“Cute boy in Advertising. Very popular. Good at what he does,” Sehyung lists, taking full pleasure in seeing Kyungho’s hackles rising with every sentence. “How’d he get on your nerves? I’ll have to send him flowers.”

“Nothing,” Kyungho grits his teeth and slinks out.

Sehyung considers actually _calling_ Dayoon up to ask what all this is about for a moment. But _ah_ , what’s the fun in that, really?

*

By end of the week, Kyungho knows more about Dayoon than his mother probably does.

He’s a year younger than Kyungho is. Outgoing and energetic, with a permanent smile on his face. Friends everywhere he goes. Bleached his hair a month ago on a whim. A fan of snow selfies. Transferred to Advertising officially because of manpower issues, but Kyungho has a (very strong) nagging suspicion it’d been because of one of the cute girls that kept popping up in his selfies.

Kyungho officially _hates_ him.

“It’s not because, you know, of his pictures with Seohaeng or anything, or how he keeps making those googly eyes at him, or how he keeps tagging him in all his Instagram stories and grabbing at his clothes like some dog,” he barks at a long suffering Hyukkyu, who’d lost a game of rock paper scissors when he joined the department and had to take the cubicle next to Kyungho. “He just seems like a shitty person. I mean, no offence, if he’s your friend or anything-…”

“He is, actually-…”

“I mean, he just looks like the type to knife you in the back any day, you know what I’m saying? He has that look on his face, you know-…”

“We roomed together for two years,” Hyukkyu mumbles weakly in Dayoon’s defense, digging his grave further.

“Well that was a terrible judge of character,” Kyungho steams. “He could’ve killed you at any moment! Look at him! Does _this_ look like the face of mercy to you?”

“Why,” Sehyung says over a gigantic mug of coffee, on one of his rounds to breathe down people’s necks and make sure they’re working. “Are you waving around a picture of Dayoon in a dinosaur onesie?”

“We _do not mention his name_ ,” Kyungho hisses.

“What?”

“He’s dating Seohaeng,” Wonseok informs shortly, from the next cubicle (it’s a small office) (wait why is Wonseok even in this conversation).

“Who?” Sehyung repeats blankly.

“Kyungho’s ex-boyfriend,” Yoonjae grunts from two cubicles away.

“We _haven’t broken up_ \- wait how the _fuck_ do you even know-…”

“Oh, thank fuck,” Sehyung says bluntly. “I was wondering when he’d come to his senses and dump you. I mean, that’s not to say Dayoon’s _that_ big of an upgrade, if you ask me-…”

“ _Fuck_ you,” Kyungho says sourly. “You know, just because _you_ have regular breakup and makeup fuck cycles-…”

Sehyung doesn’t speak to him for the rest of the day. Frankly, this is a blessing.

Kyungho spends his afternoon sunken in his revolving chair, morosely replaying a shaky Instagram story, watching the hand reach out and grab someone’s sleeve, heart clenching when the camera tilts up to a familiar smile, a little disbelieving and a little fond. He even plugs his earbuds in so he can turn up the volume to hear them laugh.

Life _sucks_.

*

This is not to say he’s jealous, though. Kyungho would just like to make that clear.

His man pride is as fragile as his hair. It’d taken him six years of repressed feelings and confused jerk off sessions to admit he liked boys, admitting he’s _jealous_ might be just a little too much for him to handle right now.

And honestly, he’s not handling all too well as it is.

Bumhyeon stares him down wearily over a takeaway bowl of kimchi chicken stew and white rice.

“Kyungho,” he says in a clipped voice. “What happened.”

“Nothing,” Kyungho manages to force out through a mouthful of rice. He gives himself a satisfied mental pat on the back.

Okay, their – _his_ , apartment’s kind of in a mess, magazines and clothes strewn everywhere and sink full of unwashed dishes. And, okay _fine_ , Kyungho had kind of passed out for the weekend and woke up realising blearily that he hadn’t consumed anything other than cheap beer and prawn crisps for 24 hours, but things are honestly _fine_.

“You know,” Bumhyeon rubs his knuckles into his temple. “I thought this break was supposed to last a week.”

“It’s been a week,” Kyungho inhales a quarter of the egg soup in the bowl that Bumhyeon had whipped up on the spot. He didn’t even know he _had_ eggs in his apartment. “Times four.”

“This doesn’t seem like your normal break-…breaks,” the older man says carefully.

Kyungho snorts into his soup. He coughs a bit.

“What did you guys fight over this time?”

“Don’t remember,” Kyungho scrapes the bottom of his rice bowl. He drags the bowl of stew closer to him.

“Have you spoken at all since then?”

“Nope.”

“What’s different about it this time?”

Kyungho grunts through a mouthful of chicken.

Bumhyeon sighs. “Is this about that bleach blond boy who just joined his department.”

The younger boy chokes on kimchi. Bumhyeon thumps his back automatically.

This makes Kyungho feel about a million times better and a million times worse. Worse, because Bumhyeon knows and that means it’s _real_ , it means he’s not fucking delusional like he was hoping he’d been.

Better, because Bumhyeon knows, and Bumhyeon can fix everything.

“I can’t fix this for you,” Bumhyeon says firmly, like he’d read Kyungho’s mind. The younger boy slumps into his plate of meat. “Obviously, there are things here that neither of you have settled.”

“Then why isn’t he _calling_?” Kyungho almost whines. He _almost_ stomps his foot, but catches himself just in time.

“Haven’t you realised,” the older man sounds tired. “Every time this happens, it’s _you_ calling for a break and _him_ having to get you back together?”

“Yeah, but-…”

“And haven’t you thought about what he might be feeling?”

“Sometimes it just-…”

“Haven’t you considered he might just be getting tired of this?”

Somewhere in the recesses of Kyungho’s mind, the foundation of crippling insecurity holding up the rest of his being cracks a little.

Of course he’s considered it.

He thinks about it all the time, even if he doesn’t know it. He lives in that fear. It’s one house out of many in his head, full of old and familiar things, like dark rooms and a pleading, hushed voice, and beer cans flattened into discs on coffee tables, with cigarette marks burned into them.

He tears happiness out of good things, as if daring them to keep giving it, because he doesn’t think anyone deserves to be happy. Even him.

 _Especially_ him.

Bumhyeon’s sidled around the table by this point. Kyungho barely flinches when he wraps his arms around his head, fingers brushing reassuringly through his unwashed hair. He speaks quietly, the way Kyungho’s mother used to.

“Of course he loves you.”

“How do you know?” Kyungho asks, one hand wrapped in a fist around the fabric of Bumhyeon’s hoodie, staring at a vague spot on the wall across him.

Bumhyeon pats his cheek, but can’t reply.

*

Kyungho does not die from malnutrition or disease from lack of hygiene over the weekend.

Bumhyeon manages to make the space liveable (Jongin is one lucky fuck) and has enough food in the fridge to sustain Kyungho over the next day, and Kyungho shows up alive to the office with a lot on his mind.

Thankfully, his thinking face is about the same as his hungover face, and everyone stays out of his way in the morning. No one likes talking to Kyungho when he’s hungover. There’s a 50% chance he’ll break your face, and a 100% chance he’ll break your sanity.

Lee Seohaeng is actually a very good boyfriend.

He listens to all of Kyungho’s rants. He nurses Kyungho’s bruised ego when Sehyung decides to fulfil his daily shouting quota on him. He buys dinner for him even when Kyungho complains about how he doesn’t like the food. He actually remembers anniversaries, and then does things on them, as if Kyungho can be assed to care.

But he drifts. Like a balloon on a string, he floats where the wind takes him, carefree and kind and drawing people to him like magnets, evil, greedy people who just want to take from him. And at the end of the string is Kyungho, shoving the balloon away every time it drifts too close, just to make sure it _has_ to come back. And with every push, the string frays.

One day, the string’s going to snap.

Maybe it already has.

Kyungho stares at the latest Instagram picture on Dayoon’s account – it’s Seohaeng, caught in mid-laugh, reaching up towards the phone as if to block the camera. His sleeves are folded back and tie loosened, and there’s a drink in his other hand, glowing amber in the weak evening light of the outdoor bar they’re at, with the rest of their colleagues from that department. He looks relaxed. Happy.

(Maybe it would be better if it did.)

Throat dry and hands shaking, Kyungho loosens the steel trap in his chest, and the string slips from between its teeth, floating idly away.

*

A quiet misery saturates the office for the rest of the week.

Kyungho sees Wonseok throwing concerned looks at his booth when he passes by with coffee. Hyukkyu stops trying to avoid him in the office. Yoonjae and Woohyeon give him a wide berth. Even Sehyung is slightly less of an asshole.

“You okay?” Dongbin says over a mug of coffee on Thursday afternoon, after an extremely efficient meeting that had none of Kyungho’s snark or Sehyung’s screaming.

Kyungho takes a sip of black caffeine. “Uhm. Yes.”

Dongbin watches him for a while. Then clears his throat, shifting around awkwardly, because this is a very emotionally constipated little office and Feelings are an off-limits subject.

“Maybe you should take tomorrow off,” he suggests. “Relax a bit. Have a drink and stuff. We’ll see you on Monday.”

*

This is partly how Kyungho finds himself at a club that night, well on his way to getting hilariously drunk from loneliness.

It’s a nice club. There’s a bar for losers like him and tall boys with nice shoulders and tight pants to look at and the music isn’t actually bad. He likes this club.

His vision is swimming pleasantly, mixing with the music. There’s a certain joy in solitude that only comes with a lack of sobriety, and he turns down the girls that approach hopefully, the little gems at the corner of their eyes sparkling at the possibility of a free drink.

Kyungho tips a healthy mix of whiskey and coke down his throat, staring into the dance floor, smiling absent-mindedly while his chest turns to stone. Seohaeng never liked clubs. He liked quiet pubs, places you could lean against someone and hear their heartbeat, or noraebangs, where you could just let go around people you loved.

He liked their apartment, lazing on the couch in front of variety show reruns at two in the morning, running his fingers through Kyungho’s hair whenever the latter had had too much to drink.

He liked leaning down, pinning Kyungho to the cushions with kisses that felt like velvet against the flush thundering under his skin.

Kyungho had liked that too.

Now, he searches for it, staring aimlessly into the crowd of people searching for the same thing.

He stares and stares, and something flickers at the corner of his eye. Features start to swim into the sea of his consciousness, forming a comprehensive map, and a confused _hey_ , _I know that guy_.

Kyungho sits up properly, and stares.

Dayoon’s laughter travels across the space between the bar and the dancefloor, even above the music – it’s a sound Kyungho’s well familiar with thanks to the Instagram searching. His cheeks look flushed. He’s looking at someone. Dancing with them.

Between a mishmash of thoughts of _well fuck_ and _can my life get any worse_ , his feet getting tangled in the foot ring of the barstool and then almost spilling his drink, someone emerges from the crowd.

The cute girl has her head thrown back, laughter spilling from her plush pink tinted lips. Kyungho watches as she topples delicately into his arms, watches Dayoon’s hands curl around her thighs under her miniskirt and pull her close.

Kyungho suddenly feels better.

And he feels really, really terrible.

*

You (2.13am):  
_wy do u love himm lol_  
_he doesnt lov u back_

You (2.15am): _  
hyunggg_

You (2.19am): _  
whyyy_

Lee Seohaeng (2.32am):  
_Kyungho?_  
_Are you drinking?_

You (2.33am):  
_hes bad_  
_he went home wih herr_

Lee Seohaeng (2.33am): _  
Where are you? Are you alone?_

Lee Seohaeng (2.34am): _  
Kyungho?_

You (2.36am):  
_whyd u stop loving me hyng_  
_lol_  
_im sory_

Lee Seohaeng (2.36am):  
_Kyungho can you just tell me where you are?_

You (1.38am):  
_u know I just_  
_want u to be hapy??_  
_lol_  
_b happy with me hyung_  
_pleas_

*

Kyungho wakes up tasting vomit.

He pulls the blanket over his head, wondering if he’d crashed at the club last night. Then the bartender would call the last person he’d texted to pick him up, which in this case would probably be Sehyung, whom he’d texted earlier to dump all his Friday work on, just because.

While the idea of fucking with Sehyung is, on any day, a fine one, waking up half-dressed on his bed with the chance of Sehyung’s murderous on-off boyfriend walking in at any moment is not a pleasant thought.

It’s such a _nice_ bed, though. Smells nice too. Like milk soap and strawberry shampoo. Maybe he can risk the murder for now. It might be doing him a favour, anyway.

Then the bed sinks slightly beside him, and a reassuring weight rests on the blanket wrapped around his waist.

“Welcome back to the living.”

It’s Kyungho’s mind that freezes over first. His body follows shortly, limb by limb. He remembers who uses milk soap and strawberry shampoo now.

The blanket is peeled back gently, and the light, even through the curtains, hits his hangover like a sledgehammer. It’s like a near death experience, complete with shocking pain and beautiful angels.

Seohaeng watches him carefully, plush, dark teal turtleneck wrapped snugly around him, features soft in the dim light. Kyungho traces them with his eyes, from the hair falling into his face, the eternity somewhere in his eyes, to the tip of his perfect nose, and the weary, fond curve of his lips.

He looks _amazing_. And Kyungho’s just _vaguely_ aware that he’s in a crumpled, probably stained dress shirt, grotty socks, hair sticking up in about 249 different directions and smelling of vomit.

This wasn’t exactly how he’d been fantasising their reunion would go.

“Fuck,” Kyungho croaks, aware that his breath smells like something just crawled into his mouth and died. “Oh, fuck.”

Seohaeng laughs, the fucker. It’s the most beautiful thing Kyungho’s heard in a month. Fingers run through his hair, gorgeous hands cradling the back of his head.

“If you’re going to throw up, let me help you to the bathroom first? Jonghoon wasn’t very happy when you dirtied his leather upholstery last night.”

*

It takes Kyungho about a marathon’s worth of effort, but he manages to shower and rinse out his mouth, and is bundled into a blanket on Seohaeng’s bed, curtains still drawn, staring meditatively at a bottle of water, a couple of painkillers and a bowl of warm oat cereal.

Seohaeng is a _gift_ from the celestial powers above to his shitty little life.

“So,” he says, now feeling relatively less pain and a lot more shame. “What. Uhm. What did I.”

Seohaeng gets the drift, saving Kyungho from having to organise any more brain cells. “I got your texts. I borrowed Jonghoon’s car and drove over to a few of your favourite bars until the bartender from the club called me.”

“Shit,” it’s starting to come back piece by piece to Kyungho now, the drinking, the texting, what he’d seen last night. He throws back the painkillers to cover up. “So. Uhm. You-…you read my texts?”

“Kyungho,” Seohaeng says, slightly long-suffering. “Who is _he_.”

Kyungho chokes on a bit of water. “ _He_ ,” he says through loud intrusive coughs. “He. He,” this is the point he realises he’s going to have to actually confess all his internet stalking over the past few weeks. “He,” he mumbles. “That guy. Dayoon.”

Seohaeng is quiet for a while. Then he lets out a short bark of laughter. “ _Wait_ , Dayoon? _Dayoon_? You thought I was dating Dayoon?”

Kyungho does not appreciate this being laughed at thing, and pouts into his cereal. “Yes,” he says, averting his eyes. “Aren’t you? Interested in him?”

“He’s a good friend,” Seohaeng smiles, after the laughter’s subsided. “Even if he didn’t sleep with a new girl every weekend, probably not.”

“But he’s so close to you,” Kyungho mumbles a little louder, feeling quite stupid and very relieved now. “He always posts those pictures of you-…”

“And of everyone else. And so does Jonghoon, and so does Jongik, even the bratty interns got on it once Jaeha started,” Seohaeng rolls his eyes slightly. “It’s a thing with the department. Just like how yours is full of anguished people who run on caffeine and refined sugar.”

“We _don’t_ -…okay maybe we do-…”

“Did you mean it?”

“Huh?”

Seohaeng’s the one who doesn’t seem quite at ease now. “Did you mean what you said? What you texted?”

Kyungho swallows. He doesn’t exactly remember what he’d texted. He has a feeling he doesn’t want to, either.

“You said,” the other man seems to get this (again, a gift from above). “You wanted – us, to be,” he shrugs. “Happy together?”

It takes every fibre of Kyungho’s being not to run out of the room right then and there, like how he’s run from every other moment like this, or deliberately killed it, for fear of truly wanting something he might not be able to have.

Instead he steels himself to sit and look into Seohaeng’s eyes. “Yeah?” It comes out almost like a question, first. He forces himself to say it again, like a promise. “Yeah.”

Seohaeng doesn’t say anything for a moment. When Kyungho looks up, he looks stunned – also, a little concerned, as if wondering if Kyungho had hit his head anywhere last night.

“You mean-…”

“Why didn’t you come back?” It’s Kyungho’s turn to ask this time. His voice sounds smaller than he’d planned.

The weary smile returns to Seohaeng’s face momentarily. “Not like it’s ever worked before.”

“If-…I want _us_. To work,” Kyungho blurts out, words tumbling over each other and shrivelling in shame from the contact. “Forever. If - if that’s okay-…”

“Yeah,” the smile on Seohaeng’s face brightens infinitesimally, lighting up his whole face in a wary, tender way that cuts deep into Kyungho’s chest, feeling the pain and knowing he’d caused it.

“I think I’d like that too.”

*

When he first meets Seohaeng’s department, Kyungho does _not_ cling to his boyfriend like he’s a security blanket. Because that would be very unmanly.

“Hi!” A very familiar, slightly terrifying face greets Kyungho, smiling brightly in the comfortably dim lights of the pub they’re at. He hands Kyungho a pint of Cass (at least he has good taste). “I’m Dayoon. Seohaeng’s told us all about you.”

Kyungho accepts the pint, mouth dry. “Uh. Hi.”

He then proceeds to watch Dayoon simultaneously throw himself into Seohaeng’s arms and hand him a drink. “Don’t be strangers! Jonghoon really wants to meet Kyungho again after he threw up in his car.”

Then Dayoon flounces off, wrapping his arms around a smallish intern with delicate features and eyes that speak of world domination in cruel and creative ways, before feeding him a peanut.   

Kyungho clears his throat. From a department that mandates screaming _NO HOMO BRO_ if they so much as brush against each other in the corridor, this is Very New Territory.

An arm finds its way around his shoulder. “See? They love you.”

Kyungho’s staring at three of the other guys semi-stacked on top of one another on the L-shaped sofa in the lounge area, watching a video on someone’s phone. “That’s great.”

Then Seohaeng leans over, pressing a kiss on the side of Kyungho’s lips. “Not as much as I do, though.”

That one makes Kyungho flush from head to toe, pushing him and mumbling about _public_ and _everyone’s right there_ , and Seohaeng laughs, holding on tight.

*

Kyungho Returns on Monday.

“No,” Hyukkyu moans quietly into the microwave, barely audible under the sound of Kyungho harassing Woohyeon at the photocopier next door. “Can they break up again please.”

“If it’s anything like last time, you won’t have to wait long,” Wonseok says unconcernedly, making himself a triple shot cappuccino.

Dongbin watches the wall from which the enthusiastic thumping noises are coming from thoughtfully. “You know Wonseokie, I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

Then Sehyung storms in, pushing Wonseok aside like a curtain and getting himself two rounds of black coffee, before thundering back out.

“What’s up with _him_ now,” Hyukkyu side-eyes him, as the microwave beeps.

Wonseok picks himself up from the stack of files beside the coffee machine and dusts off with the air of someone who has had to do this many times, and copes by elaborately planning untimely and premature deaths in his head. “Seen Inkyu’s Instagram lately?”

Hyukkyu sips his cauliflower cream soup pensively. “No.”

As the boss, Dongbin should feel worried. “Should we be worried?”

“No,” Wonseok says flatly, taking a sip of coffee, unflinching even as Sehyung starts screaming at Kyungho and Woohyeon next door. “But that cute Chinese boy in Inkyu’s latest Insta post probably should.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> \- i had a lot more fun writing this than i expected  
> \- the smeb/kuro shipper in me refuses to die still (even more so for dandy/mata)  
> \- every fandom needs multiple shitty office aus and i decided to be the change i wanted to see in the world  
> \- there might be more office au stuff?? maybe?? ideas (skt kz ksv mvp) would be cool thank you ;u;  
> \- thank you for reading thus far, kudos and comments will be painted and framed lovingly on my wall \o/


End file.
